I WOULD RATHER BE
by SimplyTully
Summary: Past!Brynden. Written for a challenge. A young lord visits Riverrun and changes Brynden's life.


_(This one was written in answer to a challenge where an unambiguously gay Brynden was required. This story might have happened in my timeline. In other stories of mine, Jason Mallister is a bit of a stiff prig and there's no trace of his attachment to Brynden. Since I had this idea, I've been writing Jason in a different way. Wait and see. Meanwhile enjoy this. I've been asked for a follow-up… who knows…)_

"Oh, and another piece of news. I'm getting married."

Leaning with his elbows on the marble parapet hanging over the Tumblestone, Brynden Tully turned to stare at his distinguished guest, weaponry pupil, brother in arms, and friend. "Aren't you too young?"

"I'm almost eighteen," Lord Jason Mallister replied with a grin. "Better to do away with it and then get on with my life."

Brynden sat down on the stone step along the parapet, looking up at the younger man with concern. "It's not supposed to work like that."

Jason was amused. "Your authority regarding marriage is legendary, Ser Brynden."

Brynden bowed jokingly, but without a smile. "I only hope it will not make you unhappy."

"Oh, no. We're childhood friends. I love her, and she loves me. Yet I'd rather do without all the hustle and bustle of the wedding. I look forward to having her by my side, but I can't wait to resume jousting and training, and ruling Seagard."

He sounded self-assured. Despite his youth, he was turning out a fine Lord of Seagard after the untimely death of his father. As he looked out of the parapet with the wind blowing his dark hair away from his face, his features finely wrought like a statue's, he looked every inch the perfect lord. His grey eyes gazed at his future with the same intensity of his sigil, the Mallister eagle.

Brynden shrugged and smiled. "My best wishes, then, my lord."

Jason snapped out of his reverie, nodding his thanks. He turned and sat down beside Brynden. "How about you? Any second thoughts?"

Brynden laughed. "None. Hoster is going crazy. He's found a thousand suitable wives for me, but 'suitable' is not enough."

"By the way, I have a cousin who -"

Brynden raised his eyebrows warningly, and the young lord shut up with a rueful grimace.

They enjoyed the morning air and the warm sun in silence. They were comfortable enough that ignoring each other for a while was not disrespectful, neither for _Ser_ Brynden towards _Lord_ Jason, nor for Jason towards a friend ten years his senior. The rest of the visiting Mallister family was probably still breaking their fast with Lord Hoster Tully in the great hall, but Jason had taken the morning for himself. He had told Brynden there would always be another time for politics.

Brynden was staring at the clouds above Riverrun, absently picking at the leather thong that kept his Tully red hair tied, when Jason cleared his throat. "Is it true about you and Ser Barristan Selmy?"

He froze, then let his hand fall. "The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to chastity," he replied coldly. He wished that was the end of the story.

Jason nodded quickly. "Of course. I just wondered how, you know..."

"What?!"

Undaunted by his bark, the young lord forged ahead. "How it is with a man."

Brynden glared at him. The situation called for one of his famous quips, but Barristan's name had brought up too many ghosts. "Just like with a woman," he replied, looking away. "It ends in grief."

"I'm sorry."

Brynden turned again. He was getting maudlin and annoyed. "No, I should not have said that," he told Jason, "with you so close to your wedding. Many marriages are happy. I trust that yours will be."

Jason shook his head. "I'm sorry because you're a good man, and you deserve to be happy too."

The lad was saying all the right things to make Brynden want to flee to the barracks and hack some straw dummies to death. "Maybe the Seven have decided against it," he replied with a shrug.

_Damn self-pity._ When that mood came upon him, Brynden needed to be alone. He could not stand people looking at him. Yet Jason's gaze was kind, understanding. Strange that eyes so sharp could look so gentle. As gentle as the movement with which the young man leaned forward and kissed him.

Brynden was so shocked that he slammed his elbow against the parapet in his hurry to pry Jason away from him. Shocked, and angry. It was too much like Barristan and him, with roles reversed. He was not going to let the lad hurt himself. "If you want to try everything before you're married, my lord, look elsewhere," he snapped, rubbing his elbow. "And if you're doing it out of pity - there's a nice rocky riverbed down there waiting for you."

"Neither," Jason replied in a surprised voice. His wonder, the sudden shift from curiosity to the mystery of desire, touched Brynden. This time he offered no resistance when the young man kissed him again, twining his hands around Brynden's neck. He found himself returning Jason's embrace.

How long had it been? Beyond the stirring of passion Brynden welcomed the warmth of friendship, the closeness of living through fights and feasts together, sharing laughter and grief. As the kiss grew hot, Jason's fingers found the leather thong that tied Brynden's ponytail and tore it away, a wild gesture that awoke Brynden's own deep wildness. His hair fell down like a red curtain around their faces, screening the sun.

When the kiss ended Jason laid his head on Brynden's shoulder, scuttling closer and murmuring his name. His breath on Brynden's neck was maddening. "For the last time, boy, get the hell away from me," he said in a hoarse voice. "I'm trouble."

Jason made no reply. He did not seem to need much advice after all; he pulled up on the stone seat and straddled him. _We're alone,_ Brynden thought with a shiver. _Nobody can see us here._ Acting on impulse he reached up to kiss Jason again as the young lord slipped his hand into Brynden's breeches. His eyes fell closed and his head swam. "Jason..." To hell with impossible loves. He could have Jason right there, nobody would know, nobody would interrupt unless someone _came_ _right through the door of the room they had innocently left unlatched..._

The thought formed a split moment before the voice reached him. "Lord Mallister, are you here? Brynden... _WHAT IS THIS?_"

Lord Hoster Tully stood on the threshold of the balcony door, staring at them like a fall of freezing water. Jason hastily drew back his hand and disentangled himself from Brynden, who in turn hitched up his breeches and straightened his tunic. Sitting on the stone seat in that dishevelled state, they stared at the apparition. The wrathful lord of Riverrun was at least as tall as Brynden and wider in the chest, and could have easily thrown _both of them_ into the Tumblestone.

As lordly as ever, Jason got up. He smiled at Brynden and whispered: "Thank you." Brynden wanted to reply in kind, but all he managed was a nod. The young man walked out of the balcony and back into the room, disappearing under Hoster's astonished eyes.

"I'm your liege lord!" Hoster shouted after him, red in the face, an unseemly contrast with his short red beard. "If I catch you two again, I'll flog you both!" A resounding indifference answered him.

Hoster had never flogged anyone. He had much subtler ways to make someone feel guilty. Brynden discovered he did not care. He started laughing. He knew it drove his brother crazy, but he could not stop.

"What's so funny?" Hoster exclaimed. "He had his hand inside your pants!"

"I noticed." Brynden just laughed harder. He got up, retrieved his strip of leather and started gathering his hair again. His hands were shaking with laughter and sheer nerves.

"It will not be funny if his betrothed learns of this and refuses to marry him!"

"Jason Mallister is his own man."

"He's a child. And now that I think of it, what if Cat had found you? Would you still laugh, then?"

Brynden sobered, fussing with his hair. Lysa and Edmure might still be too young to think anything of it, but Catelyn - Brynden's favourite niece - was eight, and very bright. He would not want her to witness anything of that sort, no matter who was involved in it. Brynden was in for an inhuman load of reproach from Hoster, his brother's words were already worming their way into his conscience, and his body still ached with unfulfilled longing (not to mention his elbow). That night the straw dummies down at the barracks were going to be _pulverized_.

"No," he admitted.

Hoster was taken aback. "Well, that's good. At least you recognize it." He shook his head, still flustered. "I can't believe it. You two. In MY house!"

"It's my house too," Brynden replied quietly, walking towards the door.

"Not for long, if you keep this up." He glared after his little brother and spluttered: "YOU'RE THE BLACK GOAT OF THE FAMILY!"

Brynden was about to leave without an answer, but a thought struck him.

_Oh, the gods be blessed._ This was too good to ignore. Hoster was handing it to him on a silver platter. He probably would suffer the consequences for a lifetime, but he could not let this go.

He burst into laughter again, to Hoster's bafflement.

_"What in the seven hells are you laughing about, now?"_

Brynden caught his breath and turned to face him. "The black goat?" he said breezily, enjoying the moment. "Since our sigil is the leaping trout, I would rather be..."

THE END


End file.
